Primum Non Nocere
by FlamingMaple
Summary: As the new doctor in town, Bella Swan expected protestors at the abortion clinic where she volunteered. What she didn't expect was for one of them to hold the door. Or for her to ask him out. Bella & Edward. All human.
1. Hippocratic

A/N for 2019-06-28: This little story was mostly written over the space of a weekend, inspired by a number of news stories around fresh protests at abortion clinics in states where there are strong protections for such clinics, and the services they provide. I thought the story would work well for the Commander in Chief Contest, and was happy to see it won a few mentions. Many, many thanks to Eeyorefan12 for beta-ing this story. She is a delight to work with.

The story is not yet complete and will not be for some time. It but currently ends in a good spot.

Happy reading,

~ Erin

* * *

_Definitely the right place_, Bella thought, looking at the crowd of people in the distance. Some wore bright yellow vests with the word 'escort' stamped on them. Most were attired in street clothes. A few nuts were even in suits. That was new. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she supposed she'd need to find a parking spot further away. Too many people would be able to see her car. _Not that anything is going to happen here. It's legal and generally accepted here in Washington state. That's why you moved here._

Cursorily reassured, she still walked the long way around the building, approaching the entrance from the side kitty-corner to the parking lot.

"Baby killers!" some of the people were chanting.

Even though she'd expected the verbal harassment, it still rattled her. Hoping to enter the building unnoticed, she walked towards it at a steady pace.

The shrill cries intensified and when she looked to the side, she had to duck whatever it was that was being thrown at her.

"Stop it!" another voice yelled, and one of the suited men she'd seen came to her side. "No one's going to hurt you," he assured her.

She knew better than to engage and kept walking, head down.

The man walked alongside her, his coppery hair glinting in the sun. The pin on his lapel also caught the light. Its text read, "Person: inside and out". The image underneath showed a pregnant woman and a woman holding a baby.

She was about to tell him to back off, one hand fumbling for the pepper spray in her coat pocket.

But he simply held the door open for her, standing back to let her in.

Blinking and trying to understand his bizarre behaviour, she asked, "Why are you holding the door for me?" She wondered if he would try to tackle her if she attempted to move past him.

"You'll go in anyway. At least a kindness might remind you of your oath." He looked down at her bag, where a small caduceus was stitched into the cover.

Bella snorted and rolled her eyes. She knew his type. Just another zealot with all the moral high ground. He probably knew the first line of the Hippocratic oath, and would conveniently dismiss the rest of it. "Do you even know the oath?" she asked.

Still holding the door, his reply was immediate. "Of course I do. Every doctor does." Seeing she was inside, he let go of the door and walked away, picking up his sign again.

_Well, colour me surprised_, she thought, shaking her head. _Idiot_, she added, for good measure, watching his lanky form. _God, do all the weirdos have to be good looking?_ Shaking off the oddness of the experience, she turned to approach the security door, ID in hand.

\- 0 -

"It was fine, Dad," Bella said, pressing buttons on the microwave. Tapping 'start,' she watched the small cardboard box rotate.

"You wore your vest, right?"

She contemplated lying. "No, Dad. I didn't."

"Bella, honey. I know it's less contentious here, but—"

"Dad, I moved here because I wanted a change. I appreciate you getting it for me, but maybe you should give it to someone who'll wear it?"

"I don't want anyone else to wear it, honey. I want _you_ to. My God, Bella, you know the crazy shit people will do. It isn't like guns aren't legal here—"

"Dad, I get that you're worried, but no."

His sigh was almost a growl. "Just be careful, please. I don't want—"

"Neither of us do. I will. I promise."

"Good," he said, voice relaxing a little. "How're things otherwise? Your place any more set up?"

"Yeah, it's great," she lied, looking around at the many unpacked boxes. She'd sifted through a few of them, but work at the hospital had been busy, and once she found her several boxes of books, the motivation to unpack more of her things had disappeared. Her favorite novels and a few wine glasses had been enough to stall settling into her nondescript apartment.

But she'd always been a pragmatist. Her last place had featured one print on the wall, and that was because her mother had hung it for her on one of her few visits.

"You made any friends yet?"

She laughed. "No, too busy with work and the clinic, but the people there seem nice enough." The hospital staff were good and the people at the clinic kind.

"There's more to life than work, Bells."

"Yes, there is. I'll find one of the library book clubs or something."

"Sounds good. 'K, I'm off to see Billy. Talk to you later."

"Say hi for me."

"Will do."

She sat down at her small rectangular table with her small rectangular meal, and to add to the symmetry, pulled out her equally rectangular phone, looking up the local library. Of all the luck. There was a classics book club, and it met tomorrow night. Making note of the place and time, she resolved to go. There was nothing better than a good classic, except the company of like minded people with whom she could appreciate it.

\- 0 -

The Bellingham library was a musty old building near the downtown core, but its shelves were well stocked, and the meeting room set aside for book clubs had large windows, good ventilation, and an ancient coffee urn that produced a heady and aromatic brew.

Bella was the youngest person there. The club hosted a collection of women, all of whom had hair that fell somewhere along the silvering spectrum.

"You here for the book club, dear?" one of them asked her.

"I am, yes," Bella said, smiling.

"Well lovely, I'm Mary, one of the organizers, and this is Esme." Bella made polite greetings with both of them, explaining she was new to the area. To her relief, none of them asked about her occupation. Most seemed to assume she was a graduate student at the university. She didn't correct the impression.

To her dismay, when the discussion of what book to read next was brought up, all the suggestions predated the twentieth century. And most of them the nineteenth.

"Er, perhaps _Orlando_, by Virginia Woolf?" she ventured, when it was her turn in the circle, wondering if the novel's Swift-like nature might tether the novel to their period interests.

"What's that, dear?" Esme asked, as if she'd misheard.

"_Orlando_. It's certainly a classic, written in the early part of the twentieth century. Perhaps you've heard of Virginia Woolf?" God, how could they not have?

"I think most people might find her work rather . . . inaccessible," Esme said softly, smiling almost apologetically at Bella.

Mindful of her role as newcomer, Bella kept her opinions to herself.

The rest of the group decided to reread _Jane Eyre_.

Bella all but rolled her eyes. Fine. She'd give it a go. Again.

As she went to leave, Esme caught up with her. "You're new to town, Bella?"

"I am, yes. Just moved."

"Well, come and join us for dinner then," Esme said, a kind hand on Bella's arm.

"Er—"

Smoothing over Bella's response, Esme kept going. "Our family has a long tradition of hosting an everyone-welcome meal on Wednesdays." She was scribbling something down on a piece of paper. "No need to bring anything, but you can if you want. Please do come, though."

"That sounds really lovely," Bella said, meaning it. "And ambitious. Everyone welcome?"

Esme laughed. "Yes, well. We have a big family, and it just seemed easier to plan on one night a week when the house was open to everyone—friends, family, you name it, rather than trying to arrange for something special."

"Well thank you for inviting me. I'm not sure when I'll be able to make it—my work schedule's still getting sorted out, but I will come."

"Good." With a final wave, Esme headed off to join the others, who were already tidying up with a well-rehearsed set of movements.

Bella was herself kindly shooed away when she tried to help and told to go home and unpack.

She was smiling all the way back to the car.

It was a bit of happiness, having made the beginning of some friendships, and she made a note to thank Charlie for pushing her to do so.

* * *

Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong solely to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.


	2. A colleague

Bella parked in the furthest corner of the lot from the building. She'd tried to find parking even further away, but spaces were tight today. There was some sort of event downtown, and she was already late for her shift.

The group of protestors and escorts that ringed the entranceway to the clinic looked much as it had the week before.

She wondered if her luck would hold, in not being spotted coming from her car.

Sadly, no. Mr. suit, at a distance, locked eyes with her as she moved to go around the building. But he didn't alert anyone else and only openly acknowledged her when she was within a half block.

"Good morning," he said, as she passed by.

She nodded, not wanting to engage with him any more than necessary, afraid it would encourage other, less desirable interactions.

Largely immune to the calls of protestors, Bella ignored the crowd's varied epithets as she walked towards the building. She wasn't so immune to the woman who bustled up to her aggressively. A pointed jaw and dark curls bounced as the protestor hissed, "Shame on you! You should be having babies, not murdering them!" Her sign was adorned with grotesque photos that documented the results of a very late-term abortion.

The woman couldn't know how impossibly deep those words cut.

Even more angered by the feeling that showed in her florid blush, Bella tried to skirt the protestor.

"Let her by," Mr. Suit said quietly. His words seemed to hold some authority for the woman, because she moved back a bit.

It didn't silence her, though. "We know who you are, Isabella Swan. Don't think you're anonymous here!"

"Good for you. Glad you can use Google. Maybe you can use it to read about Roe vs. Wade too," she gritted back.

Mr. Suit walked her to the door, holding it open again.

"I don't need you to hold the door for me," she said.

"No, you don't. It's simply a common courtesy."

"Yes, that you extend while picketing a clinic, harassing the people who work here, or use its services."

"Do you see me harassing anyone?" he asked.

He had a fair point. "No," she admitted.

"I'm simply offering an alternative to what you do here." His voice was even. Calm. He was the most dangerous kind of anti-abortion protestor there was. One who could earn credibility by virtue of demeanour alone.

"Yes. Your belief that a sack of cells overrules the bodily autonomy of a woman. Because she's a woman."

"All life is sacred," he countered.

"Yeah, right until it's born," Bella scoffed. "Then you could give a flying—"

"I care," he said softly.

They were standing in the doorway, he holding it open, she standing, staring. What the heck was she doing, engaging with a man like this? She knew better.

"Anyway, I'm sure you have appointments to keep, Dr. Swan," he said politely. "I don't want to make you late."

"Don't you?" she asked. "Mr., or Dr.—?"

"Cullen. And yes, there's a doctor in front of it." He shrugged, as if the title was inconsequential.

_God, men and their privilege_. She'd fought for the right to have those initials in front of her name.

Without saying goodbye, she turned and walked away, not looking back as she was buzzed through the security door.

\- 0 -

The hospital in Bellingham was a small one, just like the city. She knew she'd had a good chance of being hired there as it, like so many other small hospitals, had a hard time keeping its physicians for the long term. She also knew the job would mean being running between departments, covering for absences and adding extra hands as needed. Today had been no exception. She didn't mind. It gave her the freedom to give her time to the clinic as a volunteer.

Bella had pulled an extra shift, covering in the maternity ward for one of her colleagues. The last labour she attended had been a long one, ending with a sticky shoulder dystocia, but ultimately a happy outcome. She'd just managed to dislodge the baby's shoulder, catching the little girl, when the obstetrician arrived. He'd given an airy "Congratulations!" to the mother, and seeing himself not needed, left. Bella had been glad. Some OB's would've taken on the easier postnatal care, robbing her of those sweet moments to see mother and baby together. Maternity wasn't her primary area, but she loved the few times she got to see the happier end of the work.

It was draining though, and she shuffled to her car, located at the far end of the parkade's lower level. She wasn't as aware as she knew she should be, already thinking of the luxury of a hot shower and her soft bed.

The hiss of spray paint made her look up.

"Shit," she muttered, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

Several figures were gathered around her car, cans in hand. While they had initially been focused on defacing her windows, now they were looking at her.

Both they and Bella paused, as if not certain what the next step in this ugly dance was.

Bella's gut had a good idea what was coming next.

_Dr_. Bella Swan," a woman's voice sneered.

Keeping her mouth shut, Bella trained her eyes on the voice's source and let her free hand fish for her pepper spray. Her keys were already in her other hand.

The several bodily shapes became distinct: a woman and two men emerging from the shadows.

"You kill the babies at the hospital too?" The woman's voice wore an ugly bravado.

_Not good_, Bella thought, _so not good. _Her hand still searched for the pepper spray.

It wasn't like it was the first time she'd run into trouble of this caliber. She just hadn't expected it so soon into her time here. The clinic had assured her that the hostilities were mild, compared to what she'd experienced in Arizona.

The trio were now moving purposefully towards her. Bella finally grasped the canister, pulling the safety catch and hiding the tube behind her back. She kept her keys threaded through her fingers. "Can I help you?" she asked, hoping to diffuse, or at least lessen the hostility.

"Help?" one of the men asked. "Is that what you call ending lives? Killing _my _baby?" His voice was strained by emotion.

The third member seemed to hesitate a bit, his posture uncertain. Bella estimated she had a chance at reasoning with him.

"I can see you're upset," she tried, moving her gaze pointedly towards her car.

There was no chance for more talk. The taller of the men lunged at her, followed by the woman.

Bella closed her eyes and sprayed indiscriminately, starting to scream when she felt the first punch to her shoulder. Another voice screamed, and she knew the spray had hit home with the woman. The second hit knocked the can from her hand, and Bella opened her eyes to try to find a target with her keys.

Something hard landed a breath-sucking punch to her stomach. Bella found herself on the ground, another thump driving painfully into her cheek. She curled into herself, hands over her head, expecting worse, but the grunts behind the kicks became panicked swearing and then the fading slap of fleeing feet.

"Hey, don't move!" someone called, as she began to uncurl, ready to defend herself again.

There was a security guard beside her, and then another. "Stay still, let me get someone here to help you."

"I'm fine," she muttered, getting up. Shaken, yes, but not badly hurt.

"Let's get you inside, get one of the doctors to look at you."

"I am a doctor, and trust me, I'm fine," she said.

"Then let us call the police," the man said.

"Sure," Bella grumbled, starting to tremble a bit. Shit, she was going into shock. Great. Just what she needed.

When the police arrived, so did the paramedics. She recognized the latter pair.

"Hey Andy," she said, embarrassed by her situation. She'd been stupid to walk into the parking lot alone. She knew better from her time before.

"Hey yourself, Swan," Andy answered evenly, smiling gently. "Do me a favour and be a good patient, eh?"

"Yeah, sure," she mumbled. She knew exactly how awful it was to treat medical professionals. It didn't do anything towards making her any less cranky or impatient as he checked her over.

"Just let me make sure you're not concussed, okay?" Andy said.

Bella grumbled, "I didn't hit my head."

"Yeah, and concussion victims always remember hitting them, right?"

She glowered, but suffered what felt like his interminable assessment, and then finally, the last of his paperwork. "Yup, you seem fine, but you need to follow up with your own health care provider. Not your prescription pad, got it?"

"Don't worry. Nothing a good night's sleep and an ice pack won't fix."

"I'd say it's going to be more than that, but like you'd listen to a lowly paramedic," he grumbled.

She practically flinched. "Hey, it's not like that. You know I respect the work you do." Some doctors didn't, but she did.

"Do you?" he asked. "Never had a problem when I brought someone else in, but if I try to treat you?" He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Crud. He had a point.

"Okay," she mumbled. "I'll go see someone tomorrow."

"That's good, because aside from it making you one of the good doctors I get to work with, it's also required before you go back to work."

\- 0 -

The receptionist took her paperwork and showed her to one of the small medical rooms. Bella appraised it with a professional eye. Tidy and well stocked. No files in sight. Good, confidentiality was being respected. The degrees hanging on the wall were impressive in their issuers, both the undergraduate and medical school—Johns Hopkins. What in the world had brought someone with that kind of credential to Bellingham? Maybe a local family connection? It couldn't possibly be the weather. That had been the one drawback in leaving Arizona: the lack of sun. This Dr. Edward Masen was a mystery for sure.

The customary knock on the door made her look up, and one Dr. Masen stood in front of her. Mr. Suit, from the abortion clinic.

"No way," she said, staring at him. She stood up, "I'll just go—"

"Please sit," he said, holding out a hand. He looked down at the notes in his file.

"Thanks, but no. You can't treat me. We have a personal connection—" She needed to be cleared for work, but she'd be damned before she let some anti-abortion freak—

"And what would that personal connection be?" he asked, interrupting her silent diatribe, meeting her gaze.

Did he not recognize her? And what the hell was with the fake name he'd given?

"You protest the clinic I work at?" she answered, almost incredulously. "Under a different name, apparently?" She looked at the degrees on the wall and then back at him.

"Cullen is my adopted name. What kind of personal connection would that create between us?" His voice was even, as was his face. The model of a physician's interested, yet level professionalism. A handsome face too.

And infuriating. She felt herself blushing. She went to speak, opening her mouth and then closing it again. She had no idea how it made them connected. It just irked her, the idea of someone like him treating her.

"I treat everyone, Dr. Swan, regardless of origin, circumstance, belief, preferred hockey team, or ability to pay. My door is open. But if you feel my beliefs are an impediment to appropriate treatment, I won't be offended by your prejudices."

"I am _not_ prejudiced," she growled out.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "So my treating you won't be a problem?"

_Oh for fuck's sakes._

"I suppose not."

"Good. Could you tell me what happened, please? While I take a look at those bruises?"

Her heart was pounding when he examined her arms, the shiver over her flesh having nothing to do with his careful, clinical touch.

When his fingers reached for her jaw, she flinched.

"Sorry," he murmured. "That must be sore."

"No—I mean yes, I'm just—just a bit shaken by what happened. That's all."

"I can imagine," he said gently. "Were you hurt anywhere else?"

"Yes," she said, hand to her stomach.

"May I?" he asked.

She'd already stood, nodding and moving to the exam table. She lifted her shirt to bare her midriff, steeling herself for his response to her scars.

"Can you rate your pain with the bruising?" he asked.

"Minimal," she said, shaking her head.

His eyebrows swept up his face. "You must have a high pain tolerance."

"Guess so."

"You have quite a few scars. Is there anything I need to know about possible internal damage?"

"Nope."

She'd put down her shirt by this time, sitting up. He glanced back, looking at her, obviously weighing the response she'd given. Finally, he nodded.

"You reported the assault to the police?"

"Of course."

"Any idea what precipitated it?" This question was all bedside manner, but dang, if the irony of it didn't make her want to laugh bitterly.

"Yes. My work at the clinic." She didn't break eye contact as she said it.

His hand paused for a moment over his notes, and he nodded, eyes down. "I'm so sorry. I hope you know that my own beliefs preclude violence and that I speak and act against it wherever I can."

"Sure," she said. She told herself she didn't care. What did it matter, that he didn't believe in violence? He certainly didn't believe in a woman's right to choose.

The rest of the appointment passed unremarkably.

"If you feel any dizziness, please come back. No driving, of course, if you feel that way."

She shook her head. "There hasn't been any, and I think we both know I don't have a concussion."

"I'd be remiss if I didn't say so," he added.

"Of course," she said quietly. "No offense, I'm sure you're qualified, but I'd appreciate a referral to another GP in the area, if you have one."

"None taken. I'll get you some cards and your clearance letter, too."

True to his word, he returned with these in hand.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the neat manilla envelope.

"You're welcome, Dr. Swan. It's a pleasure to help a colleague."

She noted the difference in language and nodded, leaving the small room and moving to the receptionist's desk. Insurance card and credit card ready, the woman looked up at her. "Oh, there's no charge, Dr. Swan. We waive services to medical personnel."

"But I'm not—"

"Aren't you a doctor?" she asked, suddenly looking suspicious.

"Yes, I am, but—"

"He doesn't charge colleagues." Then she added, in a low mumble, "Or a lot of people." Her twisted lips communicated her obvious disapproval at this habit.

"Alright then," Bella said, feeling strange, walking away without paying. When she got back to her car, she opened the envelope. Sure enough, there were cards for several other physicians, most of them female, and a letter, clearing her for work. The wording in the note was odd, though, It stated she'd been seen as a colleague, as a professional courtesy, and not as a patient. Why would it matter?

Perhaps he's not so unbiased after all? Doesn't want a known abortionist on his roll?

Maybe.

Tucking the envelope and these questions away, Bella started the car and began her drive to work.

* * *

Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong solely to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.


	3. Do No Harm

This time, she parked several blocks away from the clinic, almost immediately regretting the choice as she walked towards it. A few days into her bruises, she was feeling the worst of them, achy and sore in her midsection. Every breath and movement jiggled this tender flesh, and she both chastised and reminded herself of the much worse pain she'd endured there.

The usual suspects were visible from far away. She squinted, realizing she was looking for Edward.

She paused, just so she could berate herself. What did it matter if he was there? He didn't believe in abortions, and she did. It wasn't like they could be friends.

_Why would you want to be friends?_ She asked herself. Some other, cheeky voice in her head answered for her: _because he's handsome and kind . . . even if he is a freaking zealot._

She walked a bit further, pausing outside a coffee shop. He was easier to see now, as were the large letters on his sign. They read: 'Primum Non Nocere: Free Prenatal Care,' with a telephone number underneath. Sidling up against the shop's alcove, she pulled out her phone and typed in the name and number to a browser window. The search result led her to a page for a non-profit society. She skimmed through the content, reading about the free or at cost healthcare they provided. When she clicked the 'about' page, Edward's picture appeared at the top.

He was the president.

Huh.

Well, at least he put his money where his mouth was.

Her stomach grumbled. She hadn't been able to face the idea of food this morning, but her body was protesting the lack of nourishment. Sidling into the cafe, she ordered herself a coffee, and a muffin, and then, on a lark, ordered another coffee.

Outside, she realized she had a bit of a conundrum. She never approached a clinic without a hand free for her pepper spray.

_Well, I'll just have to drop my coffee and go for it if I need to_, she told herself. Or maybe Edward will run to my rescue. Again.

Or maybe nothing will happen.

Maybe.

She marched forward, ignoring her squirming worries.

Edward had noticed her. "Morning," he said, watching her approach.

"Morning." She held out one of the cups towards him.

He stared at it.

"For you," she said, "seeing as you wouldn't let me pay my bill."

"No charge for colleagues." A small and uneven grin spread over his face as he shook his head.

It made him look even more attractive.

She held out the coffee, but he still didn't take it.

Several of the people around him were exchanging looks, visibly disturbed by their interaction. A low and murmured conversation bubbled around them.

_At least they're not calling me a baby killer today_, she thought.

She'd already swept the crowd with her gaze, looking for the usual accosters. They weren't present. This group seemed more reserved.

"Here," she said again.

His green eyes held hers.

"It's not like it's poisoned," she quipped.

This elicited an arched eyebrow. "Well, good," he said, taking the coffee and sipping it with a quiet, "Cheers." Then he put his sign down and said, "Shall we?" looking towards the clinic.

"You planning on joining me today?" she asked, eyebrows arched.

"Oh no, but it's my pleasure to walk you to the door. Make sure no one else does anything stupid or violent." The playful tone ended, and he frowned, eyes scanning her face, which was still visibly bruised.

"Why do you stand out here?" she asked, watching him survey the crowd.

He looked towards his sign. "Advertising."

She snorted. "Sure it is."

"It is. Several people have come because they've seen it here."

She kept this eye roll to herself. "And then you tell them why abortions are evil?"

"No," he said.

Her snort was loud.

"But I'm keeping you," he demurred.

He wasn't really, but she was already late and not helping herself by standing there yapping with him. They walked towards the entranceway.

"Perhaps I can tell you about why I stand here, another time, when you aren't in a rush?"

"Sure, let's do a dinner date," she quipped.

"Well, I'd love that," he said, tilting his head and grinning.

She almost dropped her coffee.

"Um—"

"But only if you want to."

She did. Against all her better judgement.

She said, "Okay," before her common sense could take hold.

"And you can tell me why you go in there." He looked towards the security door, a few feet away from the glass one he was holding open. "Tonight?"

Wordless, Bella nodded.

"I'll pick you up at six." That lopsided grin appeared. He leaned in close. "Make sure you pack your swimsuit."

Then he was gone, the door swinging closed.

\- 0 -

_Pack your swimsuit?_ She thought. Where _were_ they going? Standing in front of the mirror, she was deciding between a modest navy one piece and a set of shorts and rash guard.

_Yes_, her snarky mind supplied, _Where are you going with the freak who protests at the clinic where you work? Smart moves, Swan. Real savvy._

Shorts and shirt, she decided. More practical if they were outside. It was early for swimming, in June, but there were several lakes in the area. Perhaps one of them was warm enough?

His car rumbled up to her apartment. Peeking through the sliding glass door's venetian blinds, she caught sight of him climbing out of a sports car.

This elicited a well earned eye roll. _Good Lord. Ego much?_

When he arrived at her door, the red and white tulips he carried were distorted by the fish-eye lens she peered through. He even had them in a vase.

She blinked, looking at them. Was this some kind of message he was sending?

"Do you not like flowers?" he asked, a little uncertainly, after she'd opened the door and stared at him.

"I do, I just wondered if the colours were chosen for a reason?"

His eyes widened, "I just thought they looked pretty. Did I miss something?"

She blushed a little on his behalf and lowered her voice. "Different colours have different meanings. Red means true love, and white means forgiveness."

"I had no idea." He shook his head. "They're my mother's favourite. I just love how they open and reveal something of themselves that's even more beautiful."

_Well_, Bella thought. _Maybe he's not all crazy zealot after all._

"Thank you, they're lovely. Tulips are actually my favourite flower, too." Looking around at her yet to be ordered apartment, she asked, "Do you want to come in for a minute?" She put the vase on her small table, hoping he had a high tolerance for mess. Her collection of boxes was only feebly diminished from when she'd last spoken with Charlie.

"Haven't unpacked yet?" he asked.

"No, been busy with work," she said from the bathroom, grabbing her towel and chosen swimsuit. Stuffing these into a bag, she asked, "Where're we going?"

"Lake Samish."

"Where on the lake?" She had her phone out, looking it up.

"North side, near the picnic area."

She texted the information to Charlie, telling him she'd call him later. It was their code. She was going on a date. If she didn't come home, he had what he needed to go after the likely suspect.

Edward said nothing, watching her type this in. She didn't bother hiding what she was doing.

"Ready?" he asked, an arm out in the direction of the door.

"Yes."

At his car, she lifted an eyebrow. "Looks . . . expensive."

He smirked. "It is. Completely ostentatious, unnecessary, and likely egotistical. I've heard it all before."

"You like cars, then."

"I do. It's my one indulgence."

"Just one?"

"Just one," he said, shifting the car into gear, reversing in a smooth movement and then accelerating with ease.

The drive took them along the highway, curving around the mountains that banked the city. This narrowed into a side road, which was surrounded by imposing firs. The sun disappeared, shadowed by their height. When it sparkled again, it was over the water, blinding as it slipped towards the horizon.

"It's so beautiful," Bella breathed.

"It is," Edward agreed, smiling at her. "Come on." He sounded excited. Like a kid about to show her something he liked. He pulled a large box and blanket from the trunk of his car.

"Can I help you carry something?" she asked.

"No, I'm good, but thanks." He'd stripped off his jacket, and the well fitted shirt showed off his well developed musculature. She'd never enjoyed a refresher of _Grey's Anatomy's_ 'Articulations of the Vertebral Column' quite so much. His back was a splendid flowering of sinew and flesh, topped by a head of hair that competed for the sun's show over the water.

"Isn't the park closed?" she asked. The sign at the entrance said as much.

He grinned knowingly. "It is, but the park wardens said I was welcome, anytime, so long as I let them know I was here."

"And what garnered you that favour?"

"Can't say," he offered with a shrug and kept walking.

She let her question go.

Then rounded the path, where a pristine sand beach sat empty. The shoreline was still, the occasional, lazy lick of water creeping over the sand.

"It's beautiful," Bella whispered, genuinely impressed by the vista before them.

"It is," Edward agreed. "And peaceful right now. Not so much in the summer."

They'd passed a few houses on the drive in, most of these tucked behind trees either over or below the road. She wondered just how alone they were here. Peeking at her phone, she saw they were out of cell service. If things got weird, she could at least walk to a house and ask to use the phone.

He snapped the blanket out and laid it on the sand and began unpacking things from the box. By the time everything was sitting on the lid, it resembled a small buffet.

"Wow. Did you make all this?"

"No," he chuckled. "There's a rather amazing deli not far from my practice. I do cook, though," he added. "I would've liked to, but I didn't have time today."

Would he have now? She tucked that statement away to ruminate over later.

"So," she started, snatching grape from a bowl. "What propelled you to spend your Saturdays picketing an abortion clinic?"

"You don't pull punches, do you?" he asked, munching on an olive. Settling more comfortably onto the blanket, he cocked his head a little to the side. "My adoptive parents convinced my birth mother not to abort me."

"Wow," Bella said, the thought and word synonymous.

"You could say that." He smiled a little, but it was tinged with something, and Bella waited for more. "My siblings and I are all adopted. We were all unwanted, in one way or another. My parents are very devout. They believe in not just preventing harm, but supporting life. It seemed fitting, to continue their work, in my own way."

"Hence your organization," Bella observed.

"Ah, you've looked me up." He quirked an eyebrow, looking at her.

Her blush was slight, and she blurted out her question. "What does it mean? Primum Non Nocere?" She supposed she could've looked it up, but wanted to hear it from him.

"Do no harm."

Of course.

"A lot of people think it's the first part of our oath," he added in

Our oath. It pleased her to think that they shared this.

"They do, don't they," she agreed, musing over the sentiment.. The ugly truth was that her work left her dealing with undoing the harm already done. Sometimes that meant more harm in the short term. If it lessened the long-term damage, then it was worthwhile.

"I was fortunate in my material circumstances. It seemed fitting to offer what I'd been given: a life. A chance. If I can."

"What does your organization do?" She was curious now.

"We offer healthcare and counselling. We try to coordinate with other agencies to provide more general support."

"As long as they don't have an abortion."

"It's a service for pregnant women." He shrugged.

She decided to avoid the sticky topic for now, picking up a stuffed pepper. It was delicious. "Wow, you weren't kidding. Those are amazing."

"Try the dip," he encouraged, pointing to another container.

They nibbled for a bit, commenting on the food. Admiring the view. Nice safe territory.

"Can I ask about your names?" she finally ventured. "Why you have one on your degrees, but use another in practise?"

He chuckled a little. "My rebellious phase came late in life."

"Oh?"

"My parents—my adoptive ones—are very loving, kind, and . . . _very_ devout people."

"You're not?"

"No, which is a great disappointment to them." He said this softly, almost like it disappointed him too.

She made a sympathetic, "hmm."

"I was pretty straight laced when I went off to college, but I didn't stay that way for long. I pushed all the boundaries I'd kept until that point. Or, that I felt like I'd been brainwashed to keep."

"That's a strong word for it."

"They were some pretty strong feelings and some pretty stupid choices to go with them."

Bella wondered exactly what that meant. She'd never had a rebellious phase. Her mother had always joked that her one child had been born middle-aged.

"Anyway, part of my rebellion was going looking for what I told my parents was my 'real' mother." He paused, looking at Bella, who tried, not successfully to keep the horrified look off of her face. "Yes, I was that much of an ass."

She cringed, imagining.

"She's forgiven me for that, but I haven't yet. She worked very hard to not let me see how much it hurt her, but even I could see it then. I did find my biological mother's information, but she'd died several years beforehand, without any other children or family. When I went looking for the rest of the family, I found that the estate had been looking for me. She'd left an inheritance, which is where the money for the organization came from."

Bella wasn't sure what to say, so she leaned forward. "What made you come back to your family?"

"I didn't really leave them, more like I just didn't stay in touch," he said. "Just since I finished my training. It was um, the experience of performing procedures like you do, that haunted me. Drove me back to them."

"Oh," she said, looking at him in a whole new light. No, it wasn't for everyone. She'd seen that early on. "Was that a field of practise you went in to?" she asked tentatively.

"No, just during residency, but I elected to do more than I needed to, trying to prove to myself that it didn't mean something. I very much proved the opposite to myself."

"It isn't for everyone," Bella said gently.

He met her eyes before he spoke next. "No, taking a life isn't."

Her breath hissed in, and she allowed herself a moment to process what he'd just said.

"It's not killing people, Edward."

His eyebrows lifted. "What do you think it is, then?"

"It's the eradication of a glob of cells, most of the time." She watched him flinch at her choice of words.

"That 'glob of cells' is a life. It might not be fully formed, but it's a life."

"So's any bacteria. No one seems to mind the antibiotics I prescribe for those."

"I'd hardly liken an embryo to a disease," Edward said.

"No, you'd like women to incubators," Bella spat back, letting her voice rise.

"That is not what I said."

"No, it's what you think. It would make you look bad to say it aloud."

"You think this is about my ego?" Edward asked. He was sitting completely upright now, as was Bella, both of them bristling with defensiveness.

"I think any man who criminalizes a woman's autonomy over her body is totally preoccupied with his ego, his power, and his privilege."

He practically spluttered. "You end lives for the sake of convenience, and I'm the one on the moral low ground?"

"Right," she said, brushing off her legs. "Thanks for confirming my suspicions: I'm an idiot, and you're a judgemental jerk with the insight of the average dog." She picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, beginning to walk away.

_How stupid did you have to be?_ She asked herself. _This stupid. This fucking stupid, that you thought an anti-abortion activist would have an ounce of understanding._

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

"Bella, wait!" Edward called, coming up behind her.

"No. I'll call a cab."

"There's no cell service here."

"I'll walk to someone's house and ask to use their phone."

"Most of these places are summer cabins, and there won't be anyone there."

"Then I'll keep walking," she gritted out.

"Please let me drive you, Bella, and at least apologize for being so insensitive."

"Insensitive?" she asked, spinning around. "You're not insensitive, you're a patriarchal bigot with guilt issues who thinks that dressing up charity as justice somehow absolves you from your misogyny."

It was his turn to hiss in a breath, and God help her, she waited to hear him speak. "It's taking a life, whether or not you want to admit it." His jaw worked for a bit, trying to find the next words. "I thought you were different, Bella. It's abhorrent to take a child's life—"

She snorted, half turning to go, but still finding herself compelled to stay. To hear more of this craziness. Watch his green eyes narrow at her.

"But I also know that some deaths are a mercy, and that with all our tools, we've been given the power to play God, for right or wrong. I don't know in every case. I thought you'd know that you at least walk one side of the line more than the other. Do you really see what you do so clinically?"

She jabbed her thumb at herself, "I make sure women have a choice. I make sure women aren't put in the situation where a pregnancy could kill, maim, impoverish, or fatally ostracize them. I do it because doctors like you are too chicken to!"

Pivoting on her foot, she turned with finality. But when she moved to step forward, the lip of her sandal hooked on a tree root, and she fell, feeling it twist painfully. She groaned into the packed dirt path, face livid with anger and then shame. Could she not even storm off without making a fool of herself?

Starting to stand, Bella felt a painful twinge in her ankle, trying not to let it show, but clearly failing.

"Just hold on," Edward said, coming close.

She wanted to say she was fine, to tell him to go away, or to crawl off into the bushes and pretend he hadn't seen her fall almost flat on her face. After yelling at him.

_And if you look humiliation up in the dictionary, kids, you'll find a picture of one dumb-ass Bella Swan._

"I think you twisted your ankle."

_No shit, Sherlock, and they gave you a medical degree._

"Quite likely," she gritted out, watching the offending joint swell.

He rubbed his hand through his hair. "What would you like to do?" he asked.

"Go home."

"Okay," he said. "Can I help you to the car?"

"Please." She kept her eyes down. She didn't think her voice could get any smaller.

His arm wrapped around her, they began a lurching stumble towards the parking lot. After a few new near spills, Edward paused, looking sideways at her. He seemed nervous. "Um, Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not very steady on your feet right now."

"No."

"I think it might be safer if I just picked you up."

She closed her eyes momentarily. There were so many scenarios she'd imagined over the years, where a handsome man literally swept her off her feet. None of them had involved the circumstances she found herself in now.

"Okay." She was sure it sounded as pained as it felt, leaving her lips.

The walk was short, and despite carrying her, he wasn't out of breath.

"Thank you," she said, when he put her down. She still didn't meet his gaze.

"You're welcome. If you push the seat back, you can put your foot up on the dash." He pointed to the lever under the seat. "I'm going to go pack up. I'll be back in a few minutes."

She nodded, eyes down, only daring to look when he walked away.

When he returned, her embarrassed blush did too.

The ride back to town was a silent one. They didn't head to her apartment, but instead stopped in front of his practice.

"Why—?"

"I'm just going to get you some crutches. You'll definitely need them for tonight and maybe tomorrow. I've got a few inside." He didn't wait for her answer, but disappeared inside, returning with them and putting them in the trunk.

At her apartment, he helped her, on crutches, to her door. Opening it, she caught sight of the tulips he'd brought. She blurted out, "Would your mother like them?"

"Pardon?"

"The tulips," she said, jerking her head towards them.

The neutral expression on his face fell, but he quickly resurrected it. "No, I brought her some the other day." He stared at the flowers and then the floor. "I'm sorry to have offended you and ruined your evening." He moved away towards the door. "Good night."

Then he was gone, and Bella was left to her disappointment, a set of crutches, and the flowers from a man who thought she was a murderer.


	4. Politics & Religion

"You sound glum. What's up?" Charlie asked.

"Oh," she sighed. Where to start? "I had my first run-in with the nutsos around here last week."

"What happened?" He'd made her promise she would tell him, after what had happened in Phoenix.

"They mobbed me in the hospital parking lot. I have some bruises. They were just looking to scare me."

Charlie was silent, save for his heavy breathing. The first few times she'd come clean about the attacks, he'd cursed a blue streak for the rest of the phone call. She'd made him promise to keep future outbursts to himself. In some ways, though, the silence was harder to take. She squirmed guiltily in her seat. He'd seen her through so many things, and she knew it pained him to watch more, but she believed in what she was doing. And someone had to do it.

"You reported it?"

"Yes."

"And you saw a doctor. Not yourself, right?"

"Yes, Dad. And I cleaned my room too."

"Don't, Bella. I'll take a lotta crap, but I won't take you making light of your safety."

"Sorry, you're right. Anyway, I also had a date."

"Yeah, I saw your message."

She'd texted him when she arrived home. Again, he promised not to ask about who and what, but he just wanted her to be safe.

"And I have very poor taste in men. Still."

"Oh," he said. It was a veritable trove of sympathy for a Charlie-ism. "So what're you going to do to get out of your slump?"

What indeed?

She shuffled the papers on her small table, most obscured by the vase of tulips. Esme's address came in to view.

"Well, think I'll go for dinner with some new friends."

"Excellent."

"Yeah, we'll see," she muttered dubiously. "I'll let you know how it goes."

And because she knew Charlie would check up on her, and because there was no fooling him when it came to stuff like this, she showered and changed after work on Wednesday, putting on a neat set of slacks and her favourite blue silk blouse. She had nothing in the house that was worth sharing foodwise, so she stopped at the store and picked up a box of fresh strawberries, and on a whim, a glass bowl to serve them in.

The turn-off was well hidden, as Esme had warned, but clearly marked with a cheerful yellow letterbox, shaped like a bird house.

When she pulled up to the stately old farm house, there were already several other cars parked in front of it. This relieved Bella a little. Esme had been adamant that she didn't need to call, but should just show up. She didn't want to be the first, or only guest.

Her knock at the front door was answered promptly. A man with greying blonde hair answered. "Hello and welcome," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Carlisle."

"Bella Swan," she said softly. "Pleased to meet you. Esme invited me from the book club."

"Ah yes, she mentioned you. So glad you could make it. Come on through. The kitchen's just this way." He held out his hands for the bowl, "May I?"

"Thank you," she said, slipping off her shoes and following him.

Ahead of them, Bella could hear Esme. It sounded like she was scolding someone.

"What did you expect, darling? Tea and polite conversation on common views? She aborts babies for a living. I mean really, you have better judgement around relationships than that."

Stopping in the kitchen doorway, Bella was presented with the sight of Edward Cullen, standing, she realized, beside his mother. Esme had her back to the door, working away at the counter. Edward's eyes widened, and he straightened, mouth opening a little as he reached a hand out to his mother's shoulder.

Great, Bella thought. Who needs enemies when you can have friends like this?

"I actually _don't_ abort babies for a living," she said, loudly enough to make Esme turn around. "My salary comes from the hospital. My work at the clinic is free."

Esme turned around. "Oh dear," she said, looking at Bella. "I'm so sorry. I thought we were alone."

Evidently. Bella lifted her eyebrows in acknowledgement.

After wiping her hands quickly on a tea towel, Esme marched towards Bella. "I'm so sorry for the offense I just gave. Everyone is welcome in my home, regardless of their beliefs. I didn't realize we'd had a guest arrive, or I wouldn't have aired my prejudices so freely."

When Bella spoke, it was softly. "It's your home, Esme. I think this is the one place you're entitled to air your beliefs freely. I won't impose what are clearly very different ones." With a quick glance at Edward, and a soft squeeze at Esme's hand, she turned around, heading back to the door.

Outside, she fumbled to fit her foot fully into her shoe and didn't hear the footsteps behind her.

"Please stay," Edward blurted out.

"Because this wasn't awkward enough?" She kept her voice down, not wanting to upset Esme, who she genuinely liked.

"Because I like you, and I completely screwed up a chance to get to know you the other day."

_He what?_

She blinked for a bit. Yes, she'd really heard that.

_He liked her._

_He'd said he liked her._

_And he'd apologized for calling her a murderer, right?_

"Please stay," he whispered.

But stay? After Esme had made her own views clear? She bit her lip. "I don't think your parents want me here now that they know who I am, and what I do."

"My parents started these dinners because they wanted a chance to talk to people—with different opinions. People like you."

Now she stared incredulously. "I have a hard time be—"

"You know Dr. Beaufort?"

"The clinic founder?" Bella asked, surprised.

Edward nodded. "Yes. When he opened the clinic here, my dad wanted to meet him, but he wouldn't return any of the calls from the church, so my parents invited him to dinner, with a promise that there would be no talk of religion or politics. He came here every Wednesday, as have many other people in town. We still don't talk about religion or politics, even though Gerard's retired and moved away. So please, you're truly welcome." He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it unintentionally and artfully dishevelled. "And before you walked inside, in what has to be the cosmically worst timing ever, my mother was telling me about the nice young woman who'd just started coming to book club." He smirked. "And who scandalized everyone with her daring reading suggestion." A smaller version of his grin spread over his lips.

"Daring," she scoffed. "Virginia Woolf. God, is literature off the list of approved topics, too?"

"It's open season on books. Does that mean you'll stay?" His eyes were bright. All his features had lifted with hope.

"Okay, but—wait," she said, seeing Edward turn, as if moving to go spread the word. She sighed. "I owe you an apology—"

"No, you don't" he said, shaking his head.

"Actually, I do. I was really angry. I get very . . . passionate about the work I do at the clinic, and the many, many issues behind it. I said some things that were not deserved."

"I could tell, that you were passionate. And angry," he admitted. "But I also saw it coming, and I kept pushing."

"You're not responsible for what other people say."

"No, but I am responsible for my choices." He looked back at the house. "Do you want to go back inside? Perhaps I could introduce you to my sisters?"

"Sure," Bella exhaled, approaching the house with more trepidation this second time.

Inside, Edward called out, "Bella's staying," to the kitchen.

Esme's "Wonderful!" was enthusiastic, but she didn't pair it with an appearance. Bella was glad. Her evening had already met its quota for awkward exchanges. She hoped the rest of the time went smoothly.

Edward gestured she should follow him. As they approached a set of stairs, Edward paused. "How's your ankle?"

"Fine thanks," she said, biting her lip. She realized she still had his crutches. "I'll get your crutches back to you this week."

"I wasn't missing them. Just glad you're better."

She followed him down the stairs, looking at the several family portraits hung there. They appeared to move from oldest to newest, as they descended. The first featured a much younger Carlisle and Esme holding a very young baby.

"That's me," he said.

She blushed, realizing she was being rude, staring and snooping. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He smiled.

"This is when Emmett arrived." In this photo, Edward was older, maybe four, and a much bigger boy stood with him, a heavy arm over the smaller one's shoulders.

He was a cute four year old, his crooked grin made even cuter by crooked teeth.

She took another step down. The poses were the same, but the boys were older. Emmett made a handsome young teen, while Edward had been captured in the unforgiving skinniness of early adolescence. And he'd had braces. And acne.

"I know," Edward said. "I keep threatening to burn this one."

"Oh, I dunno. I like it," Bella said, warming up a bit to this awkward boy. She had a lot of empathy for such creatures.

Next in the progression of photos included two much older boys, almost men, and two young women: one blonde and one dark-haired.

"Alice and Rose arrived when Emmett and I were in our teens. Man that was awkward."

"Why?" Bella asked, forgetting she was supposed to be feeling awkward with him.

"Because Emmett and Rosalie fell in love. They're married now."

"Whoa."

"Tell me about it."

"Edward," a female voice called. "Are you seriously talking about me?"

"Yes I am. About all the bad things you did when you were younger."

There was an answering snort, and then, "Jerk."

"Every family needs one," he called back.

As the room came into view over the railing, Bella caught sight of a woman who looked like she'd walked off the cover of a . . . maternity magazine. "Hi, I'm Rose," she called, "You must be Bella."

Bella let her gaze flick towards Edward, who coloured a little.

So he'd been talking about her.

"Nice to meet you," Bella said, following Edward into the room. She put out her hand when Rose went to stand up. "Oh please don't, no need."

"What is it with you doctor types, getting all worked up about pregnant women standing?"

Edward was worried though, he moved past Bella and put an arm out to steady Rosalie. "Quickly shifting vascular pressure, hard objects, and said pregnant women falling down."

"Uh-huh," Rose said, dismissing Edward and pulling Bella into a surprisingly strong hug. "So nice to meet you. Mom mentioned you, and apparently, Edward did too." She arched her perfect eyebrows at her brother, and by God, if Bella's eyes weren't deceiving her, he blushed.

He'd been talking about her a lot.

"Where's Emmett?" Edward asked, the blush fading a little, but his jaw working. He was clearly uneasy.

"Work," she said, shrugging. "Sorry Bella. The unique pleasure of meeting the one and only Emmett will have to wait."

It was so quiet, Bella wasn't quite sure if she'd actually heard it, but she thought Edward muttered, "Thank God," under his breath.

"Okay," Edward said, much more clearly. "Let's go find Alice and Jasper, before we strain Rosalie's sense of decency too much."

Rose rolled her eyes. "So nice to meet you Bella. We can chat more at dinner when Edward's not feeling so shy." Then she winked at her.

He held his arm out, indicating that Bella follow him. She had the impression he would have liked to pull her that way, if he could.

His voice was soft and low when he spoke. "Alice doesn't come to many of these dinners. Her time before us was . . . trying. She likes things to be quiet and peaceful. She and Jasper—her husband—are just in the garden right now. She can only really tolerate larger groups for short periods of time."

"Sure," Bella said. "Should I avoid talking to her?"

"Alice?" he snorted. "No. She'll talk your ear off one-on-one, but she gets quieter the more people are around. That's all. We should be hitting the sweet spot with the four of us."

Good to know, Bella thought, not sure what to expect from his sister.

Petite and dark-haired, Alice was sitting on one of the split-wood benches that ringed a fire pit near the lower garden. Her husband, Bella presumed, sat beside her.

"Edward Cullen, did you bring a date?" Alice piped up.

"Ahh—" he started.

"I'm Bella," Bella said, introducing herself, offering a hand to Alice. Her husband, Jasper, shook it too, but silently, nodding politely.

"Oh!" Alice said, looking excitedly at Bella.

Yes, Edward was definitely blushing.

"I see my reputation precedes me," Bella observed drily.

Jasper chuckled.

"I just wish I knew what that was." She raised her eyebrows and stared at Edward.

He looked at the ground, like he wanted it to swallow him up.

"Well Ma'am, what your reputation is," Jasper drawled, "is that you put he-who-can-do-no-wrong in his place. That's a mighty fine set of skills to have." He tipped an invisible hat in her direction.

Edward was still studying the grass, when Bella glanced at him.

"Dinner!" Esme's voice called. This was accompanied by the sound of a clanging bell.

"Come on!" Alice chimed, pulling Jasper along behind her. Looking back, she called out, "Come on, Edward. Don't leave your guest out here to get hungry."

"After you," Edward said, finally meeting her gaze, holding out a hand to show the way.

Dinner was delicious. And so was dessert. As promised, there was no talk of religion, or politics. When the last plates had been cleared, and Carlisle and Esme had set out the tea and coffee, Edward leaned over to Bella. "Want to see the view?" he asked.

She didn't, but she suspected he didn't either.

"Sure." She followed him to an upper deck, set off from the main part of the house. There was a modest and distant view of the river there, but nothing worth the effort Edward has made to get her outside.

"I really am so sorry," he began, "for the other day."

"You apologized. It's alright." She didn't like anyone grovelling, and she liked, even less, them feeling beholden to her.

He nodded, seeming to scan the horizon. "Then, perhaps you'd let me make it up to you, and take you out another time?"

"No," she said, thinking for a moment. "But maybe you can let me make it up to you?"

He stared. "Do you really think you need to?"

"I was pretty self-righteous."

"So was I."

"Well, we'll call it a draw then," she chuckled. "But maybe no politics and religion over dinner?"

She liked his smile and the way he spoke. "Sounds like a plan."


	5. Fairhaven

When Bella knocked on Edward's door, she wasn't holding flowers. Instead, she held out the crutches he'd lent her, wrapped in a bow. "Hi."

He laughed, taking them. "These will look lovely on the table. Thank you."

Bella smiled at his humour.

"Come on in for a sec," he said. "I need to put Arco in his kennel."

He moved to the back porch, opening the sliding glass door. Arco was a large chocolate lab, who looked like he wanted to come bounding up to paint Bella with his muddy paws. Edward's hand was tight over the collar. "Sit," he said, rewarding the dog with a small treat from his pocket, then wiping off the big paws. "In you go." With an erstwhile wag of his tail, Arco complied, curling up in the large cage.

"May I?" she asked, coming close.

"Sure, but I warn you, he's a licker."

Her smile was wide. "I'm good with dogs. Even lickers."

Edward was right. Her hand and forearm were thoroughly slobbered over after she presented her fist for a sniff. He rolled over like a rag doll when she rubbed his ears and belly. "He's beautiful," she murmured.

"He's something."

"Did I hear the name right? Arco, as in the gas station?"

"Yeah. I found him at one."

"Abandoned?"

Edward nodded, showing her to the kitchen sink. "He was pretty little and pretty sick, or cold. It was hard to tell. We had a real cold snap the other year. Someone had left him in a box by the dumpster."

Bella frowned. "God, that's just so cruel, the way people abandon their animals. It's not like there aren't shelters or families that won't take a dog like this."

"I know," Edward said, leaning back against the counter. "It's work when they're young, but he's worth it. Not like taking on a baby or a foster child—" He stopped abruptly, sucking in a breath. "Uh, I didn't—"

"I get it," Bella said, smiling.

Edward's shoulders relaxed.

"So, where to?" She watched him pocket his wallet, phone and keys. He was dressed in crisp chinos and a soft-looking burgundy shirt. She wondered what it would feel like, to touch him through it. A wave of heat threatened at her neck, and she shooed the errant thought away.

"Ferndale. There's a great Thai place there."

"Ferndale," Bella muttered. She hadn't been that direction yet, but she'd heard about it. Her colleague had described it as a "suburb with quaint aspirations."

"I'll show you," Edward assured her.

The Poor Siamese was anything but poor, with better Thai food than she'd ever encountered before. The unassuming restaurant was populated with chairs that looked like they'd been stolen from the church basement's discard pile. The high windows were single paned, and by the looks of them, original to the ancient storefront. "I'm beginning to get Ferndale's appeal," she said, looking out the glass to the turn of the century buildings.

"I always liked it here, as a kid. Ferndale, that is," Edward said, smiling a bit bashfully. "It looked old enough to me that I could pretend it was the wild west."

"You were a cowboy kid?" A flurry of images, of him young and present-aged, attired in a variety of cowboy costumes sauntered through her mind. They became less wholesome as they progressed.

"Yup," he said, taking another bite of curry. "And there was an amazing ice cream place. And a store that was open twenty-four hours. Revolutionary, for here and then."

"Twenty-four hour stores. Shocker."

They snickered together.

"Where'd you grow up?" he asked.

"Oh, here and there. The biggest chunk was in Phoenix and then my last few years of high school were in Forks, out on the peninsula."

"Really?"

"Yeah, not that you'd really call it living."

His eyebrows pulled together. "How so?"

She hid her nerves in another bite of food. "I was involved in a bad accident right after I moved there."

"Your scars," he murmured.

"Yes. It took a few surgeries to fix everything. Mostly everything." She swallowed a nervous gulp of water.

"What happened?" He'd leaned forward, chin resting on his hands, his very green eyes fully intent on her.

"I was hit by a car."

He said nothing, still staring, still listening.

She swallowed nervously.

What's there to be a chicken about? She scolded herself. It isn't like this can go anywhere, right?

Right?

"One of the kids at school lost control of his van in the parking lot. It was really icy. I was hit."

"Oh my God. The damage—"

"Was pretty bad. When I woke and found both my parents there, I knew I'd been out for a while." She fiddled with her fork, shuffling a pepper to the side of her plate.

"Both your parents?"

"They're divorced. I'd just moved in with my Dad. Mom was ready to yank me back across the country, but I insisted on staying." She shrugged.

"I'm surprised."

Now she dared to look at him again. "Why?"

"Most young people would want their primary caregiver, not the new one."

She snorted, taking a drink of water. "Not my mom."

He lifted an eyebrow in inquiry. "How long did your recovery take?"

"The better part of a year. There were a few smaller surgeries to correct a few things after that, but the radical stuff was all done early on." Then she let her gaze linger, watching him unpack that one, significant word.

It was easy to see the understanding unfold on his face. "I'd wondered," he said, nodding.

His reaction was so understated she almost frowned. She'd expected—she'd expected the usual pile of crap. Her face, the canvas for all her feelings, registered her confusion.

"Is that something that troubles you?" he asked quietly, his voice nervous and edgy.

"Not at all. I'm just . . ." She wondered how to put it. "Surprised at your response. Most people tend to say how sorry they are, or ask me how sad I am about not being able to 'fulfill my purpose as a woman.' Of course, then there are the super special ones who ask if that's why I've chosen my line of medical work." She rolled her eyes at these last options.

Edward's lips twisted together, as he attempted not to laugh. "Sorry to disappoint you there."

She laughed and smiled too. "Thank you. I think you're the first person ever to not try to drown me with either sympathy or judgement."

"Happy to oblige," Edward said. His grin was relaxed now. "Helps to have a minister as a father. You learn to take your cues from the people in front of you and not go jumping to conclusions."

How well she could imagine that.

"Growing up in a religious household served you well?" She asked this lightly, not wanting to stray into awkward territory, but figuring she was safely skirting dangerous topics.

"I think so. What about you? What were some of the things you grew up with?"

"A lack of parental presence? My mom was pretty scatterbrained. I suppose it helped me long term. I learned to be organized from a young age. Moving out on my own didn't feel like a big deal, more of a relief."

"Oh?"

"Don't get me wrong. Charlie's a great Dad—"

"You call your dad by his first name?"

She grinned. "Not to his face. He's pretty touchy about that, but when I'm with other people, yes. Absolutely."

He'd leaned back now, regarding her with interest. His glance towards the clock was noticeable. "You still up for a movie?"

"I am," she said. The small theatre had an eclectic selection running. Today's pick was a French film she'd heard good reviews about from colleagues. "Just let me run to the washroom."

When she returned, he'd already paid the bill. Seeing her look, he held up his hand. "My idea, my treat." Then, very coyly, he added, "Hope that's not too patriarchal or misogynistic."

She groaned, hand to her forehead. "Oh God, did I really say that? I did, didn't I? I'm so sorry—"

"Don't," he said, brushing his hand by her arm.

If the limb didn't shiver at his touch.

"Okay," she said, recovering herself. "But the movie is mine."

"Deal," he agreed, picking up her jacket and holding it for her.

Now she blushed, the colour rising up her face.

Edward said nothing, and she was glad. She enjoyed the feeling of his hands holding the fabric taut.

And she wondered, if it felt so good to have him put something on, what it would feel like to have him take something off.

The film was a bittersweet tale. Just the sort of thing to leave Bella feeling on edge, almost ready to cry, but not quite.

Edward blew out a breath when the credits rolled. "Okay, now that we both want to cry, I vote for ice cream."

"I think that beats crying. Count me in."

He held out a hand, helping her up. "Then off to the twenty-four-hour supermarket we go."

"I thought you said there was a good ice cream place here?"

"There was, but it shut down about ten years ago. The grocery store does carry some very good ice cream. There are still a few places that make it in state."

Bella smirked. She hadn't been on many dates, but none of them had ended at a supermarket.

_None of them have been this nice, either,_ she reminded herself.

Checking her watch, she saw it was eleven.

"You still up for it?" he asked.

"I am," she assured him, smiling.

"You don't turn into a pumpkin at twelve, do you?"

"Nope. Don't lose glass slippers either."

They walked, meandering up the main street. Bella eyed the old lamp-posts, smiling. It was cute, approaching quaint.

Despite its convenient hours, the Fairhaven Market had few customers and fewer staff. A droopy-eyed cashier only briefly lifted her gaze when they walked inside, quickly returning it to the magazine she was thumbing through. Competing with the low hum of the refrigerator units was the croon of Frank Sinatra singing, "Fly me to the moon."

Edward began humming along, as they walked towards the rear of the store.

"What?" he said, catching her look.

"Geriatric musical tastes," Bella quipped. "Nice."

Edward chuckled. "And dance moves, too." He picked up her hand and still singing along, twirled her around, Bella almost falling over. "Don't worry. I won't let you fall."

His smile was so wide, and the crinkle at his eyes so sweet, she let herself trust him.

He danced her to the back of the store, where he let go of all but her hand.

His fingers were strong, but the grip light. She liked the feeling of his hands, surprising callouses brushing against her palm.

"What kind of ice cream do you like?" she asked, watching him pretend to look at the freezers. She'd seen him glancing at her.

"Haven't met one I don't like yet," he said, patting his stomach.

Bella doubted there was a spare inch of fat anywhere on the man, and her chuckle must have communicated much.

"What about you?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm a peanut-butter chocolate kind of gal."

"Gal? And I'm geriatric, hmm?"

She sighed dramatically. "Alright. 'Spose I am too. . . . Grandpa." She elbowed him good-naturedly, pulling out a container of ice cream.

They both chuckled, still holding hands.

Turning together, they walked slowly towards the front of the store.

"We'll need some spoons," Edward remarked.

"Right." Bella looked around the store, wondering where the plastic cutlery might be.

"I have some at my place," Edward said softly.

Bella looked over at him, a little caught off guard.

She hadn't thought he'd be . . . _that_ kind of guy.

"Um—"

"Or we can find some spoons here," Edward offered. He paused, watching her. "Arco likes ice cream. Sorry, it wasn't some sort of sly move—"

"No, I'm sorry. I—" she sighed. They were still holding hands. "I like you. I've just not had the best of luck with . . ."

What was she going to call this?

"Buying ice cream with men with whom you've been on a date?" Edward offered lightly.

"Yeah," Bella said, grateful for the gracious exit he'd offered. She felt like she was blushing. She hoped she wasn't.

They'd paused, standing by a small stand of bouquets. Bella's hand was starting to feel numb. She fiddled with the container, and then felt Edward's fingers pluck it from her grip.

"So, what colour should I have brought you, the other night?" He lifted his chin towards the floral display.

"What?"

"The flowers. I got the colours wrong"

Bella's cheeks flushed. "Oh, well. We've already covered red, for passionate love." She had absentmindedly reached out, stroking a waxy petal.

He nodded in acknowledgement.

"Pink symbolizes strong attachment." Now she knew her cheeks were reddening. "Variegated ones are supposed to look like beautiful eyes, so apparently they're good for dates." Her hand drifted towards the last bunch on the rack. "And yellow is for those who are hopelessly in love."

"Ah," he said. "Thank you."

On a whim, Bella pulled out a bunch of white tulips. "I'm still really sorry about how I behaved. Really. I've had a wonderful time tonight." She handed the bouquet to him, which he accepted awkwardly, tucking the ice cream under his arm, holding the tulips in his free hand. As he got it all settled, he let go of her hand.

Her heart stuttered, and she wondered if she'd said the wrong thing.

But no, he was pulling another bunch of white tulips out. "I think I owe you that just as much, if not more."

They both stood there, each holding their flowers. Bella wasn't sure where to put here eyes, but his words drew them up again.

"But you're right. I absolutely had the wrong colours."

Then Bella was starting at a bouquet of bright yellow tulips, their delicate mouths revealing bright suns inside.

He'd stepped closer and set everything else in his hands on a shelf, freeing his hands to cup her face and bring their lips together.

She forgot where she was.

Or to breathe.

Much.

Unlike Edward, she dropped the flowers, her hands finding his face, fingers memorizing the arch of his cheeks and the prickle at his jaw.

"Oh. My. God," a deep voice boomed.

It almost hurt, having Edward pull away.

Watching his face flush, Bella followed his gaze.

"I thought Rose was pulling my leg, but my God, it's a real live girl!"

Edward swallowed nervously and then cleared his throat. He sounded resigned when he spoke. "Hi, Emmett." His tone softened considerably when he addressed Bella. "This is my brother, Emmett. Rose's husband. Emmett, this is Bella."

"Um, hi," Bella managed, nodding towards him.

Emmett grinned widely shifting his basket to his other arm. "Nice ta meetcha. Well, I'll leave you lovebirds to it. I need to get this back to Rose." He gestured to his basket full of ice cream containers.

Edward's face transformed instantly, full of sharp angles and stern disapproval. "She's not supposed to be having sugar, Emmett."

"Yeah, sure. _You_ tell her that."

"I have," Edward growled.

"Uh-huh. Maybe repeat that next time you see her."

"She—" Edward stopped himself, looking at Emmett and then at Bella. "Have a nice night."

Emmett was already walking away, waving a careless hand in farewell.

Taking Bella's hand in his again, Edward picked up the ice cream and the yellow tulips. "Shall we?" he asked.

"Sounds good." She was happy to evade anymore awkward grocery store interactions.

They filled the drive back to Edward's place with the smallest of talk, the air between them thick with a tension that had nothing to do with ice cream, tulips, brothers, or the powerful feeling that was blossoming between them both.


	6. Yellow Tulips

A/N for 2019-07-03: Folks, this will be the last chapter for a while. I will finish the story, but as I mentioned in chapter one's author's note, not for some time. Again, my profound thanks to Eeyorefan12 for beta-ing.

In the meanwhile, I am again participating in the Babies at the Border fundraiser, which is soliciting donations to a variety of charities that support asylum seekers being detained at the US border. If you're not sure what the fundraiser is about, I encourage you to look it up the FB group, or the Twitter handle batb_2018. Now, _what_ I write is up to you all. I have put up a poll on my _FlamingMapleWrites_ page on Facebook (address is Facebook DOT com forward slash FlamingMapleWrites), soliciting your requests. Currently, I have the option for an outtake from _A Perfect Metaphor,_ or a more immediate continuation of this story (to be clear, I _will_ finish this story in any case, but if people want it for the complication, I'll give it a much higher priority with my present time). If you have another request, please message me.

Hope you enjoy this last chapter for now.

\- Erin

* * *

Edward put the ice cream and flowers on his kitchen counter and then let Arco out of his kennel and into the fenced yard.

Bella stood at the island, her heart beating wildly, watching him move once more. The difference was that this time, she knew what his lips felt like on hers.

And she wanted to feel that again.

So when he came back to her and asked, "Bowl or cone?" she answered by reaching for him, as he'd reached for her.

Except she misjudged the distance and fell into his chest, eliciting a "Oof," from them both.

"Wow," she said, righting herself, feeling her face redden. "I am—"

"Beautiful," he whispered. He didn't let her reply, sealing in her words with a kiss. "But definitely a little accident-prone," he murmured into her neck. Reaching down, he swept his arm under her knees, picking her up and carrying her into the living room.

It was easy to relax into his arms, curling up in his lap as he settled them on the couch.

Their kisses were a frenzy, like the flailing of a drowning body, scrambling for life.

"I feel like I need to say that I don't normally do this when I've just met someone," Edward mumbled into her lips.

"Ditto," Bella rasped out, clinging to the seams of his shirt.

Edward's hands slipped under hers, and she moaned. His fingers made her skin shiver with pleasure.

"God, you're addictive, Bella."

"I was thinking the same of you," she breathed out, pulling up the tail of his shirt, kneading the muscles at his back.

He shifted his weight, laying her down on the couch, one hand massaging the hollow of her back, the other the curve of her hip.

This is where you stop things, her brain reminded her. Here. Right now. Before your heart gets broken.

Again.

"Bella," Edward whispered, stilling his hands.

"Yes?"

"I think I've been clear about how I feel about you."

"Yes." Why was he stopping?

"I don't want to screw this up. I think we should stop."

"Oka—wait, what—why?"

Yep, her brain exclaimed cheerfully. Here it comes.

He was leaning over her on his elbows, but their bodies were close enough for her to feel what kind of effect she'd had on him.

"I don't want to stop, but I also don't want you to think I don't respect you, because I do. A lot." His breathing was quick and heavy.

"Are you in any doubt about how I'm feeling about you?" She asked.

"No."

"Good. Because I know you respect me and I don't want to stop."

"Thank God," he muttered.

Then he picked her up and carried her to his bedroom.

These initial worries eliminated, they did likewise with their clothes. Both of their shirts left them fumbling with buttons, though her skirt and his trousers were much more easily dispensed with.

She only had a flutter of nerves when he reached around to unclasp her bra.

He whisked the feeling away with this small garment, whispering, "You're so beautiful," trailing kisses down from her clavicle to her navel. His fingers traced over her scars.

The movements were almost liturgical. Worshipful.

He pulled her to the bed, where their movements slowed and became more careful explorations of each other's curves and secrets.

He was ticklish at his ribs. She was just under her arms.

Their kisses had taken on a lazy quality, slow and appreciative. The way you'd lick ice cream from a cone on a cool summer day.

At her ear, he murmured, "I want to make you feel good."

She wasn't sure what more he could do. She was already in orbit, but didn't object has his kisses moved towards her stomach again, pausing briefly at her breasts.

When his fingers hooked into the waistline of her panties, she stiffened a little. "Trust me," he whispered.

She made her muscles relax, moving so he could slide her underwear off. Then he kissed her where she had most definitely not been kissed before.

She gasped at the sensation, digging her hands first into the bedclothes and then his hair. Head back, she arched into the touch of his tongue. Her mouth made a new language, a garbled production of consonants and vowels that flowed unbidden and unashamed, drawn from her by the sensations he was creating

The orgasm was shocking.

She was glad Edward had only his dog in the way of neighbours.

Edward's kisses returned to her chest and then her neck. "I want you," he whispered.

His underwear had vanished. He needn't have told her what he wanted with words.

The room was dark enough to hide what she knew was a florid blush on her face. "I haven't done this before," she rushed out.

Oh God. There. She'd said it.

She steeled herself for whatever was coming, not able to prevent the near cringe in her face.

Edward paused. "Okay," he breathed, touching her face gently.

"Okay." She exhaled. Nervously.

He caught the sound of it. "Are you sure?" He punctuated this with a kiss to her collar bone, nuzzling there.

She melted into the touch. "Yes."

The next sound she heard was him fishing for something in the drawer by his bed. There was enough light to see the condom wrapper in his hand and then catch a glimpse of him putting it on. Her medical mind made very unprofessional assessments of the specimen before her. She wondered what he'd thought of her.

"You're perfect," he whispered, coming back to her.

"How'd you—?"

"Isn't it what we do? Compare ourselves to what we see in front of us at work?"

She'd tried not to, as much as she could, but nodded. Yes, she had. Thinking this, she added, "You're amazing." She ran her fingers over his cheek and down his neck.

He nipped at them playfully and she giggled.

Their kisses started in earnest again. He hooked his hand around her knee, leaning over her, and she angled her hips upwards.

"Wait," he said, kissing away her groan.

Their bodies slid against each other, the pleasant friction sparking responses in each other's flesh.

When he pushed against her, she tensed, anticipating pain.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes." She brought her hands to his face and then her lips. "Yellow tulips amazing."

He pressed her head down into the pillow with his kiss and then himself into her. It was a sting, small and inconsequential, and all the other feelings slipped into the empty place the worry had left.

And such feelings they were.

He was beautiful, and the way he moved was beautiful. She ran her hands over his face, his chest, his back, and then rested at his hips, knowing the pull of the muscles there.

Her body, already quivering from what he'd wrought in it, quavered in deeper notes, startling her with the wave of sensation that spread down her legs, making her toes squish into the duvet. As she slid down from this peak, she felt Edward's body tense, his moan and his arms curling around her, rolling them onto their sides.

Their kisses continued, sweet and breathless. After a little while, the space between these small touches became longer.

"Ice cream?" he asked, twirling a finger in her hair.

"Ice cream," she agreed.

He offered her his robe, pulling his underwear and shirt back on. They sat on his couch, leaning together, feet up on the coffee table.

Arco looked on hopefully, lifting his head and thumping his tail intermittently.

"Are you really going to let him have some?" Bella asked.

"Absolutely. Bottom of the bowl is always his." Finishing the last of his own, Edward set it down on the floor, and Arco stuffed his nose into it, slurping into the bowl like it was the first food he'd seen in days.

"I do feed him. I swear."

"I can tell." Bella lifted an eyebrow, watching this display, and then put her own, slightly fuller bowl beside Edward's.

Arco gave Bella the most profound of dog looks, farted, and then stuck his face into her bowl.

Edward snorted out a chuckle.

His hand found hers. "It's late." His voice was husky. "Stay the night?" His thumb brushed over hers.

Stay the night.

And then what? She thought. Or rather, now what?

She squeezed his hand back. "I think our date is officially over, wouldn't you say?"

"Not at all." He shifted so he was facing her, elbow in the back of the sofa, head resting on his hand.

"I mean, I was just thinking, this is a lot more than a date."

He squeezed her hand. "I hope so."

From the tension in his jaw, Bella knew it was a lot more than hope at work for him.

"I'm trying to figure out how this is going to work," she said. Could it even?

He took a long breath in, releasing it slowly. "Yeah. I've been trying not to think about that. Because I don't have any easy answers."

She squeezed back on his hand. No. There were no easy answers.

"But it's late, and I know that things almost always look better in the morning." He pulled his hand away, sliding it around her waist, nudging her closer. "Not to set up any unrealistic expectations about what I look like in the morning."

Laughing, she snuggled into him.

"Okay, I'll stay."

Sharing his bed again, Bella's mind drifted, tangling with very real worries, only to be grounded by some nudge of Edward's equally real form beside her. Not able to fully commit to sleep yet, she rested on her elbow, fingers twirling in the copper of Edward's hair, remembering how easy it was to be with him and how pleasurable too.

More than that, was the near ache that threatened at the thought of not being with him.

God help me, she thought and then snorted quietly. She'd given up on God ages ago.

God hadn't sent back her lost cat, or restored her body, or mended her broken heart, and he certainly hadn't answered when she'd asked to be released from the world.

No. There was no God to help her here.

"But there's me, and there's you," she murmured softly, still fingering his hair. "And yellow tulips."

And so she fell, finally, into sleep, daring to dream that being hopelessly in love meant they weren't doomed to fail, but instead, to survive . . . and even endure.


End file.
